


To Serve and Protect

by prissygirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cursed AU, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Season 7 AU, Woven Lace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:39:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prissygirl/pseuds/prissygirl
Summary: All Detective Weaver wants is revenge on the men who killed his wife. But when Lacey French blows into his life like a tornado, nothing will ever be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

He kept her favorite book on his desk at work. To remind him of what he’d lost.

She’d been a hero. They’d served on the force together for four years before he’d gotten up the courage to ask her out. She’d simply smiled and asked what had taken him so long.

He hadn’t waited as long to propose and they’d had two years of blissful marriage before she’d been taken from him.

She’d been investigating a drug ring when the investigation had gone sour. A dirty cop had shot her in the back. By the time the ambulance had arrived, it had been too late.

The cop who had shot her was dead now, by Weaver’s own hand. But there were others who were still out there. He’d vowed over Belle’s grave that he wouldn’t rest until he found those who had betrayed her. No matter the cost.

He stood from his desk, getting ready to begin the night’s work. His shift had just ended which meant it was time for his real work to begin. There was a man who was proving unhelpful to him recently. He was hoping a drink would loosen the man’s lips. If not, perhaps a barrel of water would be more effective.

The clearing of a throat caught his attention and he turned to the door, blinking in surprise. A young woman, clad in a dark blue sequined dress that looked like a reject from a costume shop, was staring at him with hauntingly familiar eyes.

“Excuse me, are you Detective Weaver?” she asked.

“I am,” he replied, feeling as if his center of gravity had somehow shifted.

She gave him a wry smile. “I was told to find you. I was told you’d protect me.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else,” Weaver said as the brunette stared at him expectantly. “If you’re in some sort of trouble, you should talk to the officer on duty at the front desk.”

“I don’t want help from the police – ” 

“Then I’m afraid you’re in the wrong building, miss.” Weaver took a couple steps closer to her, his eyes narrowing as the scent of cheap beer wafted over him. He nodded knowingly, the situation obvious to him now. It wasn’t the first time someone had drank a little too much at Roni’s and come stumbling into the station claiming they were in trouble. “Now, if you’ll just come with me,” he said gently, reaching out his arm to guide her out of his office. 

She took a step away from him, eyeing his arm with a wary look that promised violent retribution if he tried to touch her. “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t want police protection – I want yours.” 

That caught him off guard. “And why would you be wanting that?” he asked, letting his arm fall to his side.

She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who better than the man who runs Hyperion Heights?”

He snorted. “I think you’ll find Victoria Belfry is in charge of the neighborhood these days.”

The woman shrugged and, to his discomfort, swaggered further into his office. She perched on the edge of his desk, the hem of her short dress rising half an inch higher, revealing pale smooth skin that he tried very hard not to notice. “During the day perhaps. But I’ve always been more of a night owl.”

The way she lounged lazily against his desk while smirking at him was making him increasingly uncomfortable. From the way her grin widened as he shifted his stance, it was clear she was enjoying her effect on him.

Realizing she knew far more about him than she should, he took a quick glance into the hallway before shutting the door behind them. 

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

The woman had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. “I thought that was clear by now. I want your protection.”

“From who?” 

Her face clouded over and she frowned. “I’m not sure. It’s…complicated.” She gazed at him with those startling blue eyes of hers, pleading with him to help. “I don’t know everything, but I know enough to realize you’re the only one who can protect me.” 

Something was niggling at the back of his mind, triggered by this strange woman. As much as he didn’t have time to get involved in some pointless investigation, he knew better than to ignore his instincts. There was something in the works here; he could feel it in his gut. The sooner he understood what it was, the quicker he’d be able to get back to his real work. 

“Fine, I’ll help you out,” he said gruffly. “But you have to be completely honest with me. If I catch you lying, you’re on your own.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do we have a deal?”

She jumped off his desk, beaming at him. “Deal.” She struck out a hand. “The name’s Lacey. Lacey French.” 

With a sigh, he reached out to take her hand. Their fingers touched and a shock of something, almost like static electricity, raced through him. 

They dropped hands instantly. Lacey wiped her hand on her side, avoiding his gaze. “Weird.” 

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose you should start at the beginning then.” 

“Right,” Lacey said, her spunk back in full force. “Let’s go then.” 

Before Weaver could respond, she was already halfway out the door. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked. 

That same niggling feeling was back, like a memory that was trying to rise to the surface of his mind. “Where are we going?” he asked, his mouth feeling dry.

“Where all the best conversations happen,” she replied with a cheeky smile, “at the bar.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Weaver stood inside the door of Roni’s, looking around the little bar uneasily. 

Despite the changes sweeping through the neighborhood over the past few years, Roni’s had remained untouched, if only by the sheer stubbornness and willpower of Roni herself. The jukebox was still in the far corner and the counter gleamed as always. Despite being the local bar, the establishment was a clean one. Anyone who didn’t respect Roni’s property would quickly find themselves exiled.

Lacey had already headed towards the bar, waving and calling out to others around the room. She was clearly in her element here, her face lit up with an easy going smile that seemed more genuine than any expression she’d worn in his office earlier or during the short, but awkwardly silent walk over.

Weaver swallowed once, trying to push away the anxiety fluttering up within him. It wasn’t like him to feel so uncertain, at least not in recent years. But being back here was stirring up memories that he’d rather have left buried. 

Roni’s had been his and Belle’s spot before her death. While they’d been co-workers, they’d often grabbed a drink after work together, talking over their day. It’d been in that corner booth, right next to the jukebox that he’d finally dared to ask her out on a proper date. 

Even after they’d been married, Roni’s had remained their favorite spot. Just walking in the door again tonight had sent memories flooding through his brain, stealing the breath from his lungs. He hadn’t been back since Belle’s death for this very reason, choosing a seedier bar several blocks down from here to drown his sorrows in. Being here felt too raw, too much a reminder of the person he’d once been and of the happiness that had been ripped away from him. 

If Lacey hadn’t chosen that moment to turn around, he might have simply ran back out the door. But when she raised an eyebrow and gave an impatient jerk of her head for him to follow, he steeled himself against the onslaught of memories, and walked across the bar to where she sat perched on a bar stool. 

“Took you long enough,” she complained, as he slid onto the stool next to her. “I could have taken two shots in the time it took you to walk over here.” 

He gave her a tight-lipped smile and turned to face the bar, only to come face-to-face with Roni herself.

“Hey, stranger,” Roni said, her dark red lips quirking into a gentle smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“Aye,” Weaver replied, his eyes darting away from hers. “That it has.” 

Roni’s gaze quickly fell onto Lacey, and Weaver saw her look back and forth between them, a calculating glint in her eye. Like others of her profession, Roni was good at reading body language, using the barest of hints to figure out a situation or a person. 

She was also chronically nosy. 

“What’ll it be tonight?” she asked lightly, as if she wasn’t burning to know what the two of them, especially one of her former regulars, were doing at the bar together. 

Lacey glanced over at Weaver, as if she was sizing him up. “Whisky?” she asked. 

He nodded his approval. “Sure.” 

As Roni went to get them their drinks, Weaver leaned against the bar and waited for Lacey to begin. He’d found over the years that it was almost always better to let other people start the conversation and then decide his questions from there. 

Unfortunately, Lacey didn’t seem in a hurry. Her fingernails tapped against the bar absentmindedly as she watched Roni fill their glasses and place them each on a coaster in front of them. 

Weaver nodded his thanks as his fingers closed around the tumbler. He raised the glass to his lips, his nose inhaling the smoky scent. The liquid touched his tongue and a warmth spread through him, pushing back the cold that had settled into his bones on the short walk over. 

He glanced back over at Lacey, who was eyeing him over her drink. “You’re not very chatty for a damsel in distress.”

She snorted into her glass, giving a big roll of her eyes. “You’re not very chatty for a detective either.” She put the glass down and turned to face him. “Also, let’s get one thing straight here. I am not, and never have been, a damsel in distress. I’ve dealt with enough chauvinistic assholes in my life and I’m still standing. If I could figure this out by myself, believe me, I would.” 

Roni, who had been standing a few feet away, let out a chuckle. Weaver gave her a nasty glare, but she ignored it, returning to wiping down the bar. He turned his attention back to Lacey. 

“Are you always this delightful when you’re asking for someone’s help?” He didn’t even try to keep the bite out of his voice. 

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Never had to before.” 

Weaver bit back a groan, not wanting to give her, or the eavesdropping Roni for that matter, the satisfaction of knowing that Lacey was getting to him. Despite his earlier resolve to be patient, he felt his reserves quickly drying up. 

“Are you going to tell me why you dragged me down here or have I wasted the last twenty minutes of my life?”

Her eyes flashed briefly for a moment, but instead of replying, she merely took another sip of her whisky. When she spoke next, it was to her drink. 

“Someone’s been following me for the past two weeks now,” she said, softly enough so that only he could hear. “I never see anyone, but I know they’re there. It’s like,” she struggled for a moment to explain, “this buried instinct that sets off the hairs on the back of my neck. I thought I was going crazy. Then a few days ago, my apartment was broken into. Nothing was taken - at least not that I’ve noticed yet - but it was obvious someone had gone through my things.”

“No chance it was an ex-boyfriend or former roommate?” he asked, before taking a sip. 

“If there was, you can believe I would have put an end to this already. But there’s no one like that here. I’m a bit of a loner.” 

He made a sweeping motion with one arm, gesturing to the rest of the room. “Yeah, sure seemed like it from the way you greeted everyone earlier. It was practically a royal visit.” 

She rolled her eyes. “That’s different and you know it. You can have a hundred acquaintances and still be alone.” 

Leaning closer, he asked, “Any chance that one of these ‘acquaintances’ of yours decided they wanted to get to know you better?” 

“It’s possible.” Lacey shrugged, hunching down in her seat. “I haven’t gotten that vibe from anyone here, but it would make sense.”

Weaver downed the last of his drink, motioning for Roni to bring him another. “I’ll need a list of any possible suspects and their addresses. That includes coworkers, friends, acquaintances, basically anyone you’ve come into contact with in the last few months.”

“Golly, do you want their social security numbers too?”

“Don’t be cheeky. I’m helping you out.” 

“Fine, but don’t be so high and mighty about it. It’s your job, not some favor you’re doing out of the goodness of your heart.” 

“Well, that’s certainly true. I hear you have to have a heart in the first place for that to work.”

Lacey snorted, flagging Roni for a second drink as well. “I hope your policing skills are better than your jokes.” She stood up and hiked a thumb towards the restrooms. “Be back in a sec. Don’t touch my drink.” 

He placed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m an officer of the law, Miss French.”

“Yeah, and you’re also dirty as hell, so forgive me if I’m a tad skeptical.” She flashed a cheeky smile over her shoulder as she left. “But feel free to enjoy the view.” She sashayed away, her hips moving rhythmically to the music he could barely hear above the din of voices. He turned back to his drink, ignoring her. 

As if on cue, Roni appeared with their drinks. “One for you and one for the pretty lady.” 

“It’s not like that, Roni.” 

She gave him an innocent look. “I didn’t say it was.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What you’re ‘not saying’ is so loud my ears are bleeding.” 

Roni chuckled, her face breaking into a smile. “Still as snarky as ever, I see.” She leaned closer to him on the bar. “It’s good to have you back, Weaver.” 

He grunted and took a sip, hoping she’d get back to serving her other customers. A quick glance around showed that everyone seemed to have a full drink at the moment. Just his luck. 

“So you and Lacey, huh?” Roni grabbed a towel and began wiping the bar in front of him. He had to move his drink to keep her from knocking it over. “Not something I would have seen coming, but I think she’ll be good for you. She’s certainly an improvement over the rest of the company you keep these days.”

“Roni…” he growled in warning. 

She waved her free hand at him. “Don’t try your tough guy act with me; it won’t work. I’ve seen you try and flirt with a ketchup bottle, you know.” Her expression grew serious. “I’ve been hearing things, Weaver. You’re messing with things you shouldn’t. You know Belle wouldn’t have wanted - ”

“What Belle would have wanted is to be alive.” 

Roni sighed, her shoulders dropping. “I know. But this isn’t you.” She gave him a wry smile. “There’s still a good man beneath all that denim. I know there is.” 

He swallowed, not sure how to respond. Part of him wanted to believe her - believe that the man Belle had fallen in love with was still there. But he’d come too far to turn away from his quest now. The man he’d been before couldn’t survive the things he’d done. He’d had to change, harden himself to the things that had once weakened him, in order to carry on.  

Roni must have taken his silence for acceptance because she continued. “I’m happy for you though,” she said, with a nod towards Lacey’s vacant seat. “You’ve been alone for too long and Belle would have wanted you to move on - ”

“Enough.” His voice was quiet, but by no means kind. “I’d appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself.”

There was a sliver of unease in Roni’s eyes that he’d never seen before. But fear had never stopped her from speaking her mind in the past and it didn’t now. “Sometimes the truth really hurts.” 

He and Roni stared at each other for a long moment, neither looking away or giving ground. It was then that Lacey returned, oblivious to the battle being raged across the bar.

“Good, you didn’t touch my drink,” she said happily, sliding back onto the stool.

Her statement shattered the tension between them. Both he and Roni looked away from each other and at her. “What?” he asked confused, before her earlier words came back to him. “Of course, I didn’t. Drink up, we’re leaving.” 

He stood up from his stool and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, tossing some bills on the counter. The anger that was growing inside him was a familiar and welcome friend after the strange uneasiness he had felt ever since Lacey had walked into his office. He was beginning to feel more like himself again, like his feet were on solid ground once more. 

Lacey looked back and forth from him and Roni. “I missed something interesting, didn’t I?”

He ignored question. “Let’s go.” 

Roni merely shrugged when Lacey raised an eyebrow at her. With a sigh, Lacey threw back her drink, wincing at the whisky burned down her throat. She stood up and followed Weaver, who barely waited for her before walking towards the door. 

As they passed back through the room, Lacey once again waving and calling out to the people they passed, Weaver caught a glimpse of movement through one of the bar windows. He paused for a moment, turning to look more closely. Through the dim window, he could just make out a figure, wearing a red and black checkered flannel shirt, standing in the alleyway looking in. 

Tilly gave him a wink before disappearing down the alley. Weaver shook his head, hoping the girl was at least staying out of trouble. He really didn’t need to bail someone else out of trouble tonight. 

It wasn’t until they were standing outside, shivering a bit from the cold, that Lacey asked, “Where are we going?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I was thinking your place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I was really inspired by episode 7.04 "Beauty" and suddenly have a ton of plot to work through, so I might not be updating every week. But trust me, it's gonna be good ;)


	4. Chapter 4

“I was thinking your place.”

Lacey blinked at him, her breath condensing in the cold night air. “Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He gave her a flat look. “I don’t mean it like that. But if someone broke into your apartment, it’s a crime scene. I can hardly help you if I can’t take a look at it.” 

She seemed to weigh this in her mind for a moment before nodding. “You’re right of course,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “but tonight’s no good. Maybe later this week?”

Narrowing his eyes, Weaver took a step forward. Intimidation was a useful tool and he felt no qualms about using it now, especially since it was obvious Lacey was hiding something. “Any particular reason tonight isn’t good?”

There was a stubborn glint in Lacey’s eyes, and for a second, he thought she might shove him back. But then she deflated, her shoulders sagging. She didn’t meet his eyes as she mumbled something. 

“Didn’t quite catch that,” he said. 

“I have a guy there,” she repeated, only slightly louder this time. “I told him I was going out to run some errands.”

Weaver felt a twinge of something in his chest, which he ignored. Mostly likely it was a sign he’d been working too hard on too little sleep, but he’d worry about that later. 

“Is this friend or customer of yours - ”

“You think I’m a hooker?!” Lacey yelled, drawing the attention of several people walking past. “Seriously?”

“Frankly, I could give a damn either way. But whoever this man is, he could be a suspect.”

She shook her head firmly. “He’s not. Trust me.” 

“You’re making it rather difficult to do that right now.” 

“Fine then.” Lacey threw her hands up in the air. “Don’t help me! See if I care.” She pushed past him and began stomping off down the street. 

“Great!” he yelled back. “Have a nice life. Or what’s left of it.” He turned back towards the police station. She had already wasted an hour of his time, but there was still plenty of night left. He looked back over his shoulder in time to see Lacey disappear around a corner. Good riddance, he thought. He had been stupid to let her monopolize his time like that. While he wasn’t the first man to be suckered by a pair of big blue eyes and a sad story, it still smarted that he’d fallen for the old routine. 

Now it was time to get back to work. He walked to his car, planning to swing by the docks and see what activity was going on that night. As far as he was considered, Lacey French was already a distant memory. 

He saw no sign of Tilly as he drove past Roni’s, but he was hardly surprised. She was probably off climbing telephone poles or something equally crazy. As useful as she was to him as an informant, he really needed to find a way of keeping tabs on her better. He didn’t like gambling when it came to his work and Tilly was as much of a wildcard as one could get. 

It wasn’t until he had driven several blocks, scanning the sidewalks and buildings carefully, that he realized he was searching for Lacey. He’d even turned on the corner she’d went down earlier, all without realizing why he was doing it. Sucking in a breath, he decided there was no use getting upset at himself about it. It was only natural that he should be curious after the mystery she had laid out before him earlier. The docks were in this direction anyway, so if he drove a bit slower on the way there, what would it hurt? If he happened to see her, fine. If not, then it was probably for the better.

As if fate had been waiting to see what he decided, it was then that he spotted her. About a block ahead, Lacey had just walked up to the front door of a rundown three-story brick building, her face brightly lit by the harsh lights of the entryway. Fumbling for her keys, she stole a quick glance behind her before turning the keys in the lock and walking inside. Shortly after, a light winked on in a third-floor window. Weaver caught a glance of Lacey as she looked out the window, scanning the street below before disappearing again.

Taking note of the apartment building, Weaver realized he knew several of Lacey’s neighbors, all of whom were unsavory sorts that were occasionally useful in his after hour activities. He doubted any of them were potential suspects, however. If any of them had wanted harm to come to Lacey, she’d already be dead. There was a reason Victoria Belfry’s development hadn’t touched this part of the neighborhood yet. Even that woman’s ambition knew when to take a backseat to common sense. 

His curiosity satisfied for the time being, Weaver was about to drive away when he noticed he wasn’t the only person watching the apartment. 

A tall, thin man in a hood was standing across the street from the building. His body was all but shrouded in darkness, though the nearby street lamp gave off enough light that Weaver could see a pale face peeking out from under a hoody. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and his gaze locked on Lacey’s window. 

Within seconds, Weaver was out of his car, creeping silently up to the young man before he could second guess himself. By the time the man saw him, it was too late to run. He still tried of course, but Weaver quickly grabbed him, slamming him into the side of the building. 

“Didn’t your mother teach you never to spy on the ladies?” Weaver snarled. 

The man’s hood had fallen back as he’d tried to flee. Though taller than Weaver, he was much scrawnier, barely able to put up much of a struggle. As Weaver got a closer look at his face, he realized the man couldn’t be more than 16 or 17 years old. His suspect was a fucking teenager. 

“You have a long of explaining to do,” Weaver growled. The boy struggled against him, but it was no use. Weaver had a solid grip on him and wasn’t about to let go. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the fun way. I much prefer the second, but it does get rather bloody sometimes.”

The kid’s eyes grew wide and he sagged against the wall, the fight going out of him in an instant. 

“Excellent,” Weaver said. “I think that was a wise decision. Now - “

A hard object hit him on the back of his head and he turned, keeping his grip on the boy. Lacey stood, holding a large book, her eyes growing wide as she recognized him. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, bewildered. 

“I should think it was obvious.” He jerked his head towards the suspect. “I caught this little pervert watching your window.” 

“He’s not a pervert,” Lacey said defensively. “He’s my brother.”

“Your brother?” Weaver looked at the boy and then back to Lacey.

“Yeah, so do you mind letting him go?” 

Weaver let go immediately and the teenager rushed over to Lacey, who opened her arms to hug him. Despite his surprise, Weaver watched with some amusement as the smaller woman tried to embrace the much larger boy, rubbing his back soothingly.

“You might have told me you had a brother,” he said peevishly, slightly embarrassed but not willing to apologize over an honest mistake. 

Lacey untangled herself from the hug and glared at him. “You just assaulted my brother. Are you really going to start throwing blame?”

Weaver sniffed and looked away, unwilling to meet the accusation in her eyes. “Perhaps not.” 

“I’m okay,” the boy reassured her, speaking for the first time. “Really, it’s fine.” 

There was something about the way Lacey gazed at the boy that made Weaver suspicious. Despite everything, the last few minutes had only made him more interested in the case. There was something about seeing the tall teenager and his tiny sister together that felt familiar, despite having never met them before tonight. 

“I think we can handle things by ourselves from here,” Lacey said, bring him back from his thoughts. “You can go now.”

She turned to walk away, but the teenager tugged on her arm, and she paused to look back at him. “This doesn’t change anything. We still need help.” He studied Weaver closely, his expression too serious for someone so young. “I think he can help us.”

Looking like she would like to argue, Lacey nodded begrudgingly. “I suppose you’re right.” She looked back at Weaver, a wary look in her eye. “Do you still want to look at the apartment tonight?” 

Honestly, he was beginning to wish he had driven straight to the docks rather than find himself in the middle of some kind of weird family dynamic. But he simply nodded his head and followed the siblings to their apartment. He’d come this far; he might as well see it through. 

They walked up three flights of rickety stairs before reaching their door. It was at the end of the hallway, with doors to two other apartments on either side. 

“There’s a single mother and her daughter in that one,” Lacey said with a jerk of her head to her left where a child’s bike rested on the wall. “The other is an old troll of a guy. I think I’ve seen him twice since we moved in.” 

Weaver nodded, filing the information away. He watched as Lacey turned the doorknob, pushing her weight against the door until it popped open. She held the doorknob, waving him in with a flourish.  

“Welcome to our castle, kind sir.”

He snorted, secretly pleased to see her sarcasm back. He could deal with that; it was the protective big sister he was more scared of.  “I thought you didn’t believe in fairy tales. I distinctly remember you threatening me if I tried to act like a knight in shining armor.” 

She shrugged. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Weaver nodded and walked into the apartment, Lacey and her brother following after. They were standing in a tiny kitchen, which was barely wide enough for the three of them. The kitchen opened into the living room, and Weaver stepped through to examine the area. 

The furniture was old but well-used, and several beat up-looking bookshelves were crammed beyond capacity with books and the occasional little knick knack. Most were cheap-looking trinkets, including a white elephant figurine that he was sure he’d seen in a gift shop somewhere. The walls were covered with half a dozen frames, holding polaroids of the French siblings throughout the years, the oldest looking to be when the boy was probably six or seven. 

He looked over his shoulder to find the two watching him closely. 

“What’s your name, son?” Weaver asked. 

“Jack,” Lacey answered for him, a protective look once again in her eye. “His name is Jack.”

The difference between the Lacey he had met earlier that evening and the one he saw now was striking. It was like the woman had two different personalities, the second coming out in full force whenever her brother was concerned. 

Weaver looked back at the photos, noting the adoring look on Lacey’s face as she looked at six-year-old Jack. A slow smile began to unfurl across the detective’s face. 

“So Jack, any idea why your mother has been lying to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I'm trying to get this story nominated for "Best Anyem Fic" in the 2018 TEAs on tumblr. If you're planning on nominating any stories, please consider this one <3


End file.
